


Predators and Prey

by Satelesque



Series: Appleradio Collection [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Again the purge, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Because of the purge, Demon Deals, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, How did this get so long??, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light Bondage, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Power Imbalance, Power Play, Touch-Averse Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22390963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satelesque/pseuds/Satelesque
Summary: The annual purge has arrived, but the year has a last few surprises in store.  An invitation from Lucifer himself to a Purge Day party, a demon either brave or foolish enough to challenge an angel and televise it, and a trip to the back rooms for a better view of the show.  And that's just for a start.
Relationships: Alastor/Lucifer Magne
Series: Appleradio Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780735
Comments: 32
Kudos: 160





	Predators and Prey

By nature, extermination angels—exorcists, some called them—were warriors. They were the fearless, righteous bunch who reveled at descending to hell to eliminate sinners. If it was up to them, they’d start at one end of the Pentagram and do a clean sweep all the way to the other.

By necessity though, exorcists were opportunists. No matter how much they enjoyed it, a job was a job. Quotas were quotas, and they only had one night to meet them. Tempting as it was to rally at the heart of Pentagram City and blow up penthouses until they found their traitorous brother, it was simply too inefficient. Yes, they might kill a dozen of hell’s most powerful, but in that time each of them could erase hundreds of demons scuttling in the streets below.

Sometimes they wondered why God had set such limits, why He allowed the worst of the sinners to continue to exist. Rarely did they wonder long. His will was unknowable but unquestionable. Unlike their brother, they would obey.

Alastor, though, gave it all of five minutes’ thought after his first Purge Day before deciding on his answer. If hell was meant to be a punishment, there’d be no sense cutting it short. The rabble who made such easy prey for exorcists had to be the petty sinners—the addicts and crooks and cheaters of the world. They’d stay a while, suffer a bit, and be ferried off to oblivion or purgatory or whatever corner of irrelevance their souls belonged in.

But the sinners meant to stay in hell? They were the ones with power, whether given or earned through deals. Power to defy the exterminators. Power borne of their affinity for the place. It was why Alastor could sense radio waves under his skin and twist reality with a thought and a gesture. It was why no demon would ever measure up to the greatest of their kind, the one hell itself was created to contain.

And it was yet another reason the Happy Hotel was destined to fail. Hell already had a built-in way to release the relatively innocent, one violent enough to suit the locale.

Alastor had told Lucifer his theory the last time they’d met. It had been received with a laugh and an invitation to an upcoming Purge Day party. It wasn’t actually a social event, Alastor was given to understand, but more a high-class celebration of debauchery. There’d be whores and drugs and liquor in spades, and walls covered in screens showing the carnage outside. This time there was even a special treat. One of the group’s newest hangers-on, a wolf demon by the name of Magnus, had taken it upon himself to steal an executioner’s sword from an angel and broadcast the fight.

Alastor wasted no time in agreeing. Lounging around, sipping fine bourbon, and watching an angel and demon tear each other to shreds? It sounded like a fine evening, and Lucifer always had a way of being especially compelling.

It was only after that Alastor wondered just how far he’d let his sanity slip this time.

The night started simply enough. Introductions and pleasantries were exchanged and everyone wandered to their own corners to watch the start of the purge. The first whore to approach Alastor blinked and found herself on the opposite end of the couch, cocktail glass in hand. She blinked again, took a sip, and got the message, settling in to watch the show and ward off her colleagues with a silent shake of the head.

When Lucifer himself strode over, she decided her job was done. With a curtsy and a wink, she ducked off to proposition the other guests. Lucifer didn’t quite take her place, dropping down by Alastor’s side and throwing an arm around his shoulders. It had long since been his standard greeting, if only because he knew Alastor hated it.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

Alastor shot him a too-wide, overly fake smile that screamed  _ I had been. _ “But of course!” he said.

The start of a purge never failed to be an utter bloodbath. As the hours ticked down, demons gathered at the heart of the city with their eyes to the sky, waiting for Hell’s version of suicide by cop. They were the hopeless sinners who’d tired of their suffering. People who’d hated life on the mortal plane only to die and find that not only was hell real, it was more of the same but worse. A shame, really, but at least their organs found one last use being strewn across the streets to a cheering crowd.

Lucifer gave the screen a passing glance then ignored it entirely. “Good. That’s great, but you know . . .” He moved to stand and pull Alastor after him, but nothing was ever so simple. Rather than letting himself be dragged around, Alastor got to his own feet and worked in a graceful half-turn. It should’ve left Lucifer’s hand resting on his shoulder instead of wrapped around it. It would have if Lucifer hadn’t slid that hand down, caught Alastor’s, and leaned back as if it were a dance. Alastor matched him and let a snatch of music fill the air, and as heads turned their way Lucifer swept the hat from his head in a stage artist’s bow.

“You know,” Lucifer laughed as people shrugged and turned away and the game of one-upmanship was put on hold. “The main event will be starting soon, and I know a better place to watch it.”

Better than a veritable wall of screens with angles on every hotspot in the city? Alastor raised a brow, but for all his sins Lucifer rarely lied when he could mislead. Their destination, as Alastor gave a resigned sigh and followed behind, would certainly be  _ better _ but with an asterisk. Better with a list of complications.

The first was just how far Lucifer was leading him. They went past the usual set of back rooms for private affairs. Past where even Alastor’s sharp hearing could pick up the screaming from the televisions. Soon the only sounds were soft footfalls on plush carpet and the whirl of a radio dial searching for a signal.

They passed what Alastor would have guessed were the physical dimensions of the building, though Lucifer gave no sign of casting a spell. The already moody ambience darkened further as blackness wreathed the halls and kept Alastor from seeing how far there was left to go.

Then, seemingly at random, Lucifer opened a door, ushered Alastor inside, and shut it tightly behind them.

It was brighter there than in the hall, but that wasn’t saying much. Dark curtains draped the walls, and the only light was the glow of an old, static-filled TV. It was just enough to confirm the absence of any other furniture. Conjuring a chair would take little more than a flick of the wrist, but it boded ill that Lucifer wasn’t making his intentions known.

“I’d take a seat but . . .” Alastor gestured into the mostly empty room, and as he did his wrist was caught in an unbreakable hold. He knew from experience not to bother testing it. Even more than most demons’ Lucifer’s slender build belied his strength. There’d be no breaking his grip without calling on magic—magic that Lucifer could no doubt match anyway—and escalating the matter well beyond what was reasonable.

Well, that or dissolving into shadows and warping away, but that was no fun. It was tempting, though, as Lucifer’s free hand slid across his back and down his arm to catch his other wrist.

“Just leave the rest to me,” Lucifer said and pulled Alastor into a wild set of spins.

It wasn’t a dance. Lucifer didn’t give any cues and made every attempt to do the opposite. He stayed squarely behind Alastor’s back and kept their arms outstretched, the better to throw off their balance. From the very first step it dissolved into a whirl of trying not to accidentally step on each other’s toes and resisting the urge to do so deliberately. That would turn this into a very different game, but just as Alastor was starting to consider a change of pace, Lucifer pulled him off his feet. The two tumbled into a high-backed armchair, and Alastor ended up all but sprawled across Lucifer’s lap, his wrists still caught in the devil’s grip.

The urge to jump to his feet was irresistible, but it would’ve betrayed a lack of control. Alastor couldn’t stop his elbows from bracing against the chair’s arms, couldn’t help shifting until his weight rested on them instead of Lucifer’s chest. What he could do was retake the initiative. Reposition on his own terms. Lean back smoothly this time and tilt his head until his hair brushed Lucifer’s shoulder.

There was a knowing glint behind the mirth in Lucifer’s eyes, but Alastor spoke anyway. “This has all been very fun, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer my own chair.”

“Oh, but it’s not.”

“Hm?” A pursed smile and raised brows were Alastor’s only response to that, and Lucifer’s grin only grew wider. Shark-like almost. Had Lucifer ever seen a shark? Not a shark demon, but a proper shark? Not that Alastor had. Not even on Earth, back when he’d been human. He’d seen pictures, sure, and disembodied jaws hung as trophies, but a hand running up his side threw that train of thought clear off its tracks. Alastor looked to his wrists to see that it wasn’t claws but coiled snakes pinning them to the arms of the chair.

So that was where this was leading, and Alastor’s thoughts whirled between ways to stop it. Displays of power wouldn’t work on Lucifer, no more than blowing in the face of a storm, and they’d been Alastor’s go-to for decades. Thinking back—further, further back to before his death—a witty insult or two tended to get people stomping off in a huff, but that’d be even more useless. There were no genuine insults for the king of hell, and anything less might well be taken as flirting. Playing hard to get or some nonsense.

A firmer denial it would have to be. “Ah. Well, even if it’s not all the same to you, I’d still prefer my own chair.”

Lucifer was still staring but curiously now, and he still wouldn’t free Alastor’s hands. “You’re not kidding, are you?” he said. “Why?”

Why? Was it so surprising? Sure, this was hell, but was it truly so rare to meet someone who  _ could _ keep it in their pants for five minutes? Alastor matched Lucifer’s look with one of confusion. “Why, I could ask you the same. Last I checked, you were married.”

Lucifer actually laughed at that. “Oh, my dear Alastor. No marriage survives millennia in hell without a heap of honesty and the good sense to not dig too deep into it. Lilith and I are on the same page here. Envy’s a sin we’re all guilty of, but so is lust.” Then his head tipped and his look changed to an appraising one. His hand trailed along Alastor’s neck and into his hair, and dissolving into shadows was starting to feel very appealing. “As for why,” he went on, “you’re far from unattractive and not the only one who appreciates good entertainment. It’s been a good year for both of us. If I could thank you  _ and _ hear your lovely voice crying out my name? Why, it’d be two birds with one stone.”

Was that all it took? Lucifer was hardly unattractive himself, and it  _ had _ been a fun year, but how exactly that should lead to sex was a mystery.

Was it supposed to? The thought wasn’t entirely repugnant, not as much as usual. There were still all the usual problems. Too much contact, too little clothing, and far too much unrefined instinct, but Lucifer was gazing at him not with lust but as though he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“You’ve had—no, of course you’ve had sex or you’d be more nervous,” he mused. “You’re not turned off, you’re just . . .” His grin widened. “Uninterested.”

Well, he hit that nail on the head, moreso than anyone else Alastor had met. Perhaps a near eternity’s worth of experience helped. Lucifer leaned back, waiting for Alastor to confirm his read, and Alastor closed his eyes and shrugged.

Lucifer’s other guess had been right too. He’d tried it before, back in New Orleans. It had seemed the thing to do. A bit of normalcy in his life while he’d still cared, back before he’d sworn off the concept entirely. The whole thing was far more effort than it was worth.

The first step was the worst. It took ages to find someone whose mouth he didn’t want to sew shut the minute she opened it. A woman whose company was tolerable and occasionally even enjoyable. Whose gentle pawing at his arms and chest he could bear and whose embrace he could force himself to lean into. And then they had sex. It was alright. Better than his hand, but at the cost of having to tolerate another person in his bed and pretend he enjoyed her moaning like a banshee.

It did make killing her more interesting. Seeing her eyes clear with pain instead of foggy with pleasure. Hearing a proper scream.

“It’s a lot of song and dance and not much gained in the end,” he finally said.

For a moment the answer caught Lucifer off guard. He paused, blinked, then almost doubled over with a full belly laugh. A tear glittered in the corner of his eye when he looked up, and that brilliant smile was almost enough to forgive the hand still in Alastor’s hair. “’A lot of song and dance?’ From the one who took up managing a hotel to catch my eye? You’ve got an interesting set of priorities.”

“And an entirely justified one, my king! People can be very entertaining, but when the clothes come off they get so unbearably dull.”

Lucifer raised a brow and Alastor felt his smile turn skeptical before the words even left his mouth. “I wonder if I could change your mind. Not the first time you’ve heard that, I see, but I mean it. You don’t have to do anything. Just sit back and enjoy yourself. I promise you will.”

Oh, that was dangerous. That had the markings of a deal around the edges, and one that required absolutely nothing of Alastor. Demanded it, in fact. It would make it difficult to get away, but only if Lucifer’s end of the bargain still held. He’d be stuck, but only as long as he was still enjoying it.

And a deal with the devil himself—a petty one with no permanent stakes, but still a deal—with terms this favorable? He’d be a fool not to take it, no matter how his skin crawled the intrusion in his personal space. At explicitly allowing Lucifer to touch him, no matter how little regard Lucifer normally showed for boundaries.

“When you put it that way, I—”

_ “—posed to know? Is the light on? Guy said the light’ll turn on when it’s working.” _

Two pairs of eyes and two irritated smiles turned on the TV, where the static had cleared and a heavily armed wolf demon was aiming yet another glare at the camera.

_ “Don’t just nod. Do you know what you’re doing or . . . oh. Well, shit.” _ A moment of silence passed while he stared at the camera and scratched his chin.  _ “Whatever. This ain’t a talk show. Just film some randos getting killed ‘til I’m done setting up.” _

The smile was frozen on Alastor’s face. “That’s the one fighting the exorcist?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Did anyone tell him guns don’t work?”

“Someone may have mentioned it. He didn’t believe them.”

“Well, then.” Alastor made to fold his arms behind his head as he leaned back but only yanked at his bindings as his head hit Lucifer’s shoulder. “It’s a poor showman who’s not prepared to entertain. I look forward to seeing him eviscerated. More than I’m looking forward to  _ this _ , unless you do manage to change my mind. I’d shake on it, but . . .”

The look on Lucifer’s face was downright predatory as he grabbed Alastor’s jaw and pressed their lips together. The angle was terrible, just a few degrees from dislocating something, but there was magic in the contact. The moment Alastor kissed back he felt it wrap itself around his soul. Power commensurate to the scale of the deal and the strength of the demon at the other end, barely a pinprick in this case but an incomparably bright one. As it settled, it marked its conditions. Its claws sank into scraps of power that’d tear away in remuneration if Alastor went back on his bargain.

“Sealed with a kiss, huh?” Alastor muttered against Lucifer’s lips, still waiting for the devil to let go of his chin. “How romantic.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. “Alastor?”

“Hm?”

“Shut up.” Lucifer finally let go, but not before biting hard enough to draw blood.

Yes, that was more fitting. The cuts healed quickly, but the taste of blood on his lips and the shiver down his spine were a welcome distraction. In the background, Lucifer’s hands had already wrapped around him and started on the buttons of his coat.

The screaming from the television also helped. The cameraman looked to have perched on a rooftop and zoomed in on a sword-wielding exorcist a block or so away. The cries unfortunately weren’t from its victims but from demons fleeing the carnage. Just the usual ambience of Purge Day, outside the overlords’ retreats anyway.

“So that’s his target?” Alastor asked as the ties around his wrists loosened. Not to free him, but temporarily so Lucifer could pull his coat off. He hung it along with his hat on the back of the chair.

“He did say he wanted a sword. Spears get left behind every year, but swords are—oh?”

Alastor was halfway to turning around to ask why he’d stopped when lightning shot up his spine. Instinctively he flinched away, shifting forward in the chair until the binds of their deal threatened to snap. Sit back, he’d agreed, entirely failing to consider that the last time he’d let anyone this close he’d still been human.

“Careful, there,” Lucifer hummed through the sudden static, one arm wrapping around Alastor’s chest to pull him in even as the other brushed over that same patch of fur. “I didn’t know you had a tail.”

“But of course not,” Alastor said, his voice a tad breathier than he would have liked but still blessedly steady. “I do try to keep it under wraps.”

Almost literally too. Rarely did anyone notice it, tucked away under his coat as a matter of pride. All sinners eventually acclimated to their new bodies, but the most humanoid remained objects of envy. Forms like Alastor’s, distinguished only by small, fetching changes. An elegant pair of horns, inhuman eyes and ears, and the usual set of razor sharp teeth and claws. And of course this blasted tail whose only use was perking up in response to fear—an emotion Alastor hadn’t felt in decades—and, apparently, touch.

And speaking of touch, God above was it sensitive. The back of it at least was used to the brush of fabric, but the underside—the soft black fur Lucifer was gleefully running fingers through—felt like a limb’s worth of nerves condensed into a few inches. Worst of all, it was unquestionably good. Pleasant enough that when Alastor’s hands clasped the chair arms, he hardly minded the snakes wrapping back around his wrists. It was all the satisfaction of scratching an itch or stretching stiff, unused muscles, but amplified a dozenfold. Far from flinching away, as Lucifer refused to let up it was a struggle not to lean into it instead.

“I can see why. It’d be tempting even if you didn’t react so wonderfully. Why, if it were anyone else, I’m sure you’d tear their arms off for this, but me? Me, you wouldn’t dare fight.” The words rolled dark and smooth from Lucifer’s tongue, and for a moment it wasn’t fingertips but claws dragging their way through fur. This time Alastor let his back arch, an honest answer since holding still wasn’t doing any good.

It did work, in a way. Lucifer’s hand pulled away from his tail, slowly sliding its way up to Alastor’s neck. “Is that what you want? I thought the deer form was ironic, but if you  _ want _ to play the prey . . .” Clawed hands wound their way around Alastor’s throat. “I’ll gladly oblige.”

But Alastor just shook his head. "Oh, please.”

Maybe it was the angle’s fault since Lucifer couldn’t see his face. Maybe Alastor’s own fault for being uncharacteristically silent for almost a full minute. Lucifer could hardly be blamed for drawing the wrong conclusions from body language alone, but that was the most misguided he’d been all night. He wouldn’t see the smirk Alastor was wearing, so a reel of canned laughter drove the point home instead.

“Prey, hm?” Alastor chuckled. “I think you may be spending too much time with it, my friend. Respect and fear are hardly the same thing.”

“’Friend?’ What happened to, ‘My king?’” One of Lucifer’s hands shifted to tap its claws against the side of Alastor’s neck. Both of them had seen enough demons eviscerated to know they landed precisely along his jugular. “Some fear might do you good.”

It was almost as good a joke as calling him prey. The laugh track echoed through the room even as he held carefully still. “As if you’d scare off such a wonderful source of entertainment.”

“As if a bit of pain would scare you off.”

“Hmm. Fair,” Alastor said, half expecting the bite of claws. They crept forward to undo a button, wandered for a moment across bare skin, then dropped instead to Alastor’s tie.

“Another time, perhaps.”

“Wouldn’t want to ruin the mood?”

“Exactly,” Lucifer purred. A sharp pull undid the knot, and one hand returned to rubbing along the base of Alastor’s tail. The other stayed at Alastor’s chest, slowly, one-handedly undoing buttons and holding him close so as not to miss the slightest twitch.

And there were plenty of them. No sense in holding back anymore. No need to hide his discomfort at being so close, at feeling Lucifer’s voice reverberate across his skin with no real way to escape. No need, either, to hide that he almost liked it anyway. Not the closeness, but, perversely, that he didn’t have to pretend he’d wanted it. Lucifer had chosen tonight’s game. None of the power Alastor had spent decades amassing could change it now, but he was hardly defenseless.

Power had its worth. It opened doors, turned heads, and was a safety net for all of hell’s disasters, but there was something to be said for going back to basics. For putting all his stock in wits and words and playing with fire with an honest chance of getting burned. There was a thrill in it, more than the rush of annihilating an enemy, more than the adrenaline of a fight. It was the pride of remembering that even at the start, after dropping into hell weak and confused, he’d still been clever enough to thrive. Interesting enough to win the favor of hell’s greatest lord. What use was there in hiding when the truth was so exquisite?

And the immodesty was rewarded with an appreciative murmur in his ear. “Alastor, Alastor. I didn’t think you’d be this responsive before I even got your pants off.” As if in demonstration, Lucifer tweaked the tip of Alastor’s tail to watch his hips flinch forward even as his head tipped back with a sly smirk.

“As my king wills it.”

That time the shudder that ran through them both wasn’t Alastor’s. For a moment Lucifer just stared, bright eyed and ravenous, then sighed and let his grin dip into a smirk to match Alastor’s.

“This place really is built on irony. The deer’s a carnivore, and the ‘hunter’ . . .” He rolled his eyes in the direction of the screen. “You want to know his sins? Adultery, hypocrisy, abuse. In that order. Tale as old as time and common as dirt. We’ve got millions getting in for screwing someone they shouldn’t’ve. Take your pick! It’s a God damned smörgåsbord!” One of Lucifer’s arms gestured widely at the hell all around them, but the other pulled Alastor ever closer. “So of course it’s the serial killer who doesn’t care about any of it saying things that make me want to fuck him until he’s begging for more.”

Well. That wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it was always so easy to underestimate how people felt about sex. Easy to treat it as a crude curiosity even as others damned their immortal souls for it. Even now, it took nothing to dismiss the heat under his skin as simple biology and turn a breezy smile toward Lucifer. “Shame our deal keeps me from moving. It might make it hard to find an angle.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be sure to remember it for later. Right now the main event’s about to start.” Lucifer pointed toward the TV where, sure enough, the wolf was back and gesturing at his cameraman.

“Ah,  _ that _ main event. I’d have sworn you meant—” Lucifer moved then, bracing one foot between Alastor’s knees and wrapping the other around his calf. Strong as he was, it was pointless to resist as he pushed Alastor’s legs apart. “Yes, that.”

But he didn’t touch. Lucifer’s hands lingered as they undid the last buttons of Alastor’s shirt, then left before starting on his pants. One slid down to rest on his thigh, and the other up to run under his shirt and up the bare skin of his side. Slowly the anticipation was replaced by the unpleasantness of skin contact, and that in turn faded to background discomfort as Alastor was forced to listen to the drivel coming from the TV.

_ ”So then the angel’s gonna have to follow me down that street there. You stay on the roof for that part. Can’t have you distracting it, but make sure you get a good angle. I’ve got guns stashed there, there, and behind that car. I don’t care how fast the thing heals. Don’t care if it won’t die either. If bullets hurt it, it’ll go down sooner or later. If they don’t, I’ll get in close.” _

“I take it no one told him—“

“Shh. You’ll ruin the surprise.” Lucifer punctuated the thought by tightening his grip on Alastor’s thigh.

_ “Ruin what surprise?”  _ it was tempting to ask. It was becoming clearer with every boast about the wolf’s knife skills that his death would be swift and gruesome. What’s worse, his appalling lack of showmanship was making it hard to pay attention, and the alternative was focusing on Lucifer’s hands. The one at his thigh had gone back to rubbing steady circles while the other traced faint shapes across his chest. All in all, there was no other word for it than uncomfortable. Lucifer had to be feeling his end of the bargain begin to stretch.

It was probably poor form to say it, but Lucifer did appreciate the occasional thinly veiled jab. “I can’t say I’m impressed,” Alastor drawled. “If this goes on much longer, I might just go back to the main room for the rest of the purge.”

“The point is to build anticipation, but I guess it’s different for you.” Lucifer let out an amused huff. “After all, you’ve been around long enough to know just how that angel’s going to kill him. Magnus’s monologue might be a joke, but I swear the demons out there are just eating it up. Some of them’ll be laughing, sure, but either way it makes the fight more fun.”

Alastor wasn’t sure whether to be amused or annoyed at Lucifer deliberately missing the point, right up until Lucifer’s hand dipped to the inside of his thigh. This time there was a curl of warmth alongside the usual discomfort.

“Fair enough,” Alastor said. “Maybe he can get away with playing to a tasteless crowd, but a proper showman can do better.”

Lucifer hummed his agreement. “A proper showman has to know his audience. What they don’t like . . .” Alastor couldn’t help the slight flinch away as a hand ran up his side. Then it dropped down to his tail, and that was an entirely different story. “And what they do. And you  _ do _ like this, so now the question is why.”

Lucifer’s voice was low and dark in his ear, like chocolate and rolling thunder, and that was exactly why. It took a special kind of crazy to stand in the rain and stare down a hurricane as it swept in, but sanity had always been a hindrance to having fun.

Here was Lucifer, the most powerful demon in all of hell, the devil who’d left such an indelible mark on mortals’ cultural memory that only God himself could rival it. Here was one of the few beings whose touch Alastor couldn’t challenge, and he was wasting it on soft caresses.

Why? What a laughable question. “Did you think I’d like something dull just because it’s you doing it?”

And Lucifer did laugh, a light chuckle like he’d finally realized how ridiculous not just the question but this whole situation was. “Most people don’t think it’s dull, you know,” he said, then laughed again, deeper this time. “Because it’s me, huh? No point letting someone toy with you if they’re going to be boring, is there?”

Close, but not quite.  _ “’Play _ with me,’” Alastor corrected

“Hm?”

“Not even you can  _ toy _ with me,” he said, and Lucifer pulled sharply on his tail.  _ “Your highness,” _ he added but refused to back down. “I’m as much a player in this game as you are.”

The snakes cinched themselves tighter around Alastor’s wrists, and a pair of claws walked their way up his spine. “Oh? You think so, do you? Then tell me, o player, what’s your next move?”

His next move? He could barely move at all except to shrug and lean back against Lucifer’s chest. “You mean you can’t tell? But my king, that’s the very difference between plaything and player! Only one of them’s predictable. We’ve both made enough deals to know it. Poor Magnus there hasn’t.”

For a moment both of then looked back to the TV, where the wolf demon was finally done talking and made to vault off the roof to the street below. At the last second he stopped himself.

_ “Ah shit. It’s gone and got distracted by that damn casino. Gotta be at least a hundred demons in there. Be a while ‘til it’s done. Shit, um . . .” _ He gave the camera an awkward stare and ran a hand through his fur.  _ “Oh I know! Someone asked me a while back, ‘Hey Magnus, why a sword?’ Well, I’ll tell you. Spears are a dime a dozen . . . ‘cept not really. Worth a pretty penny, really, even if the things get chucked all the time. Swords, though. Swords are a real collector’s piece. They don’t throw swords. You’ve gotta be a real hunter to get one.” _

“Well you’re no Magnus,” Lucifer scoffed. “I’ll give you that, and a chance to prove the rest while I’m at it. So how about it? Anywhere else it wouldn’t bore you to touch?”

Alastor had to crane his neck to give Lucifer a wide smile, but it was worth it to see that amusement mirrored. “I’m afraid you’ve got just as much idea as I.” Experience wasn’t exactly something he had in spades.

He did live in hell, though. Like it or not, hearing about sex was inevitable. Porn aired on prime time TV and showed in every theater, and even if one were to avoid those, there weren’t any mores against discussing it in public. Even if Alastor didn’t know how he’d react, he’d knew enough to guess where Lucifer’s hands might wander.

But first a finger landed on his chin and pushed it back to the TV. “Feel free to ignore the noise. I just want a better angle.” Then Lucifer’s hand caught in his hair while the other started rubbing slow circles along the inside of his thigh. “In fact, I insist you ignore it. You were reacting so well before. Don’t you dare hold back now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. How—?” Finishing the thought was impossible. Not with Lucifer’s hand curling up the side of his ear and the breath feeling like it’d left his lungs. But there was nothing more pathetic than a speechless radio host, and Alastor forced the words out anyway. “How dull would that be?”

“Oh? Now that was interesting. Keep talking,” Lucifer said, all the while rubbing the tip of Alastor’s ear and turning the task into a trial.

It took a conscious effort to remember how to breathe properly—old memories and well-trained habits and days talking to himself in the mirror so he’d never stumble on air—but he did it. He still sounded like he’d recently choked, but the words were out with barely a stutter.

“You know, I’ve always been a radio host, even back before I died. I could go on for hours, but a conversation might be more en-entertaining for both of us. Why, even then we’d have guests in the studio or read letters that got sent in. Interactivity gets the listeners, boss used to say. Swell guy. Boring as rocks, but a good head for n-numbers. So what do you say?”

Lucifer said nothing, just moved to the other ear and watched as Alastor’s claws caught in the wood of the chair and his breathing grew uneven. But still he forced himself to talk.

“I’ll take that as a no. In that case, can’t do a broadcast without covering the weather. Better— Better hope you don’t have to go outside today, but if you do, make sure you bring your umbrella. The forecast calls for scattered showers of blood and viscera, and—ow!“

Lucifer rubbed the spot he’d just pinched. Not to soothe it, knowing him, but to deepen the ache. “Really, Alastor? The weather? I’ll give a seven for presentation, but a two for content. You can do better.”

Fine. Stream of consciousness it was.

“We broadcasters had scripts, you know. They were mostly just talking points for our live shows, but it was something. ‘Presentation’ was the whole business. You want me to keep talking? I’ll keep talking. You lost your chance to pick, so don’t complain when I go on about the first thing that comes to mind.”

Or the second thing. Definitely the second thing. First and foremost was the way Lucifer’s hand on his leg was warping every sensation. The way every rustle of Lucifer’s hand against his hair, every gasp for breath, and every point of contact all radiated heat that pooled deep in his stomach. The way his pants were starting to get uncomfortable, and it was high time to find something else to think about.

“Where  _ did _ you find that bourbon they’re serving outside? I haven’t had its like since I was on the surface, and now that I think about it, that must be where you got it. You’d think hell would have better distilleries with our resident alcoholic population, but quantity over quality’s always been their byword. I think I might see about getting myself some coffee after all this is over. Why it’s been ages since I’ve had a good cup of joe.”

And he didn’t even stutter. Words had always been Alastor’s domain, and it didn’t take long to get back in form and steady his voice. That had to be why Lucifer stepped up his game too, curling his thumb and forefinger around the base of Alastor’s ear and drawing them slowly, luxuriously up. True to his word, Alastor didn’t fail to lean into the touch.

“Speaking of good cups of joe, I—“

“Alright, point made,” Lucifer said with a huff. “Lovely as your voice is, I’d rather hear you react. How about we try the opposite?” A finger pressed itself to Alastor’s lips. “This time, don’t say a word.”

Never mind talking, Alastor’s eyes widened from the repressed need to bite down. It was right there, Lucifer’s finger, warm and steady and not an inch from razor sharp teeth. Would magic linger in his blood like it did Alastor’s? Would it taste like fire and brimstone?

But there would be consequences. It’d be far, far too easy for Lucifer to pay him back. With the deal as his guide, he could spend ages riding the thin line between pleasure and discomfort, and Alastor would be bound to stay and let him. And even worse, he’d enjoy it. They both would. Alastor squirming in Lucifer’s lap, trapped in a vivid haze of pleasure and pain and magic on his tongue, not just unable but unwilling to leave? It felt less like imagination than premonition, but it wasn’t for today.

Alastor’s mouth opened, his tongue brushed against Lucifer’s forefinger, but instead of biting he spoke. “Oh Lucifer. I can’t seem to recall where in our deal I agreed to take orders.”

“’Lucifer?’” he echoed, his voice filled with all the wrong kinds of amusement. “It was never part of the deal. You should be jumping at the mere chance to obey your king.”

“But, your majesty! You said yourself you wanted to hear me crying out your name. I was just taking the opport– _ ah!” _

The last note came out before Alastor could cut himself off, an undignified sound halfway between a squeak and a moan. Lucifer’s finger was in his mouth, but all indignation vanished as it pressed against a tooth and made its way deeper onto his tongue.

It was everything he’d expected and more. The sharp taste of blood and under it, yes, the acrid tastes of fire and sulfur and flavors undefined but achingly tempting. A taste that brought to mind trampling through fresh snow and dark stains on a white dress. Innocence lost and purity sullied. Alastor caught his tongue tracing the cut for more even as it healed. His breath came in fast, shallow puffs that lingered on his lips and Lucifer’s hand.

“See how much better this is, my adorable, bloodthirsty little deer?”

Adorable?  _ Little deer? _ Alastor made a note of protest, but that was when Lucifer finally touched him. The heel of Lucifer’s hand rubbed along the bulge in his pants, and he couldn’t help but flinch away.

“Oh, please. Just look how skittish you are.” Lucifer repeated the motion, and there it was again. That sense of simultaneous right and wrong, of wanting to lean forward and hating the impulse. There was nowhere to go. His back was pressed flush against Lucifer. That hand wasn’t going away, and despite the loss of control, it all felt remarkably, undeniably good. “Why so tense?” muttered Lucifer in his ear. “You’re not getting away from this, Alastor, so relax. Just let go.”

And that too was tempting—so very, very tempting—as all the best laid traps were. It deserved a round of applause, maybe even a speech, but sadly both were beyond Alastor’s means. What he could afford to give it was a scoff.

It was a struggle to even his breathing and pull his claws out of the wood grain. He didn’t so much as bother trying to ease his tension. That was what Lucifer wanted—the chance to bring it right back and start a game Alastor was doomed to lose.

He resisted too the urge to bite down and tipped his head onto Lucifer’s shoulder. Disturbing as it was that he was all but draping himself across the devil, it was better than letting Lucifer pull him in. And it freed his mouth to talk.

“Didn’t I tell you? I’m not here to take your orders.”

Lucifer let out an amused huff as his hand went back to playing with Alastor’s collar. “It’s for your own good, you know. This really will feel better if you relax. And I’d rather not have to trap you in a deal every time we do this.”

Alastor raised a brow. “After all this, you still think the way to entice me is for the sex to be good? Why don’t you try again.”

“First you won’t listen, and now you’re trying to give me orders? This is what happens when I don’t punish insubordination.”

“Shame our deal’s holding you back.”

“Oh, we both know you’d enjoy it anyway.” Alastor’s breathing picked up as Lucifer glided a claw down his chest. Then it darted to the side to flick a nipple, and he flinched away. “But I already told you. It’ll have to wait ‘til next time.”

“Exactly,” Alastor said. “Might as well stop while you’re ahead. You’ve promised more than enough for ‘next time’ to be worth looking forward to.”

“Haven’t I—?” Lucifer paused, thinking back on what exactly he’d promised. ”Oh, Alastor. It’s almost like you want to be tortured.”

“I’m putting up with this, aren’t I?”

“This?”

Alastor’s voice was as sharp as his smile. “You know your touch makes my skin crawl. I’d call it enough to qualify.”

Lucifer let out a long sigh, but his voice was bright with amusement. “Well that’s no good. If you think this is torture, just imagine how it’ll feel when I bend you over the side of a bed and fuck you until your knees give out.” It was the second time Lucifer had mentioned it, but this time the breath caught in Alastor’s throat, and he felt himself twitch into Lucifer’s hand instead of away from it. Lucifer must have noticed too, since he finally moved to unbutton Alastor’s pants. His fingers touched skin, and he laughed as Alastor shuddered and turned his head. “You’d hate it, wouldn’t you? Too proud to give in no matter how much you want it.”

“Oh but I don’t  _ want _ it.”

“Your dick would beg to differ.”

And it was true. Freed of his pants, it stood fully erect, twitching against Lucifer’s hand even as Alastor himself froze perfectly still from conflicting impulses.

But what Lucifer said wasn’t quite right, and a speech was right there on Alastor’s tongue about the difference between enjoyment and desire. Then Lucifer twisted his hand to drive the point home, and he swallowed the words for a soft moan. Lucifer would appreciate it more than a lecture on semantics, and for now at least, Alastor did want more. More contact, more pressure, more of that dark heat smoldering under his skin, and most of all for Lucifer to stop teasing him and get on with it.

But Lucifer only slowed down, idly running his fingers along Alastor’s shaft as he mused aloud. “Maybe you  _ are _ on to something. If it’s not sex you’re after, then what? Me?”

Now that was just too much. Alastor almost choked as a sudden, irresistible laugh forced its way from his throat. Him, gay? Never. He’d know if he was, current position notwithstanding. All the coercion and bribery it’d taken to get here shot a fatal hole through that theory.

For a moment Lucifer chuckled along but idly, without humor. “No, no, deny it all you want, but I am right. Name anyone else you’d want doing this.” His hand started moving then, stroking firmly up and down, and only his legs around Alastor’s knees kept them from pressing together. “It’s not the sex, is it? You want control. Can’t let Vox and Valentino and the rest take advantage, and a no-name schmuck off the street isn’t  _ worthy _ of playing with you.

“But me? You know you can’t fight me, but you won’t give up. You can’t beat me at my own game, but you’re still trying oh so hard to be a  _ player.  _ I’m having fun, I’ll admit, but that’s not the point, is it? It’s that pride again. Can’t let yourself be someone else’s puppet. Can’t surrender without a fight, and even when you lose you show your claws along with your belly.”

Before Alastor could gasp out a retort, a hand was over his mouth and forcing his eyes back to the TV.

“Now then. This isn’t an order, but do try not to come before the show ends. You’ll miss the finale.”

And this was a mistake, but Lucifer was right. So very, very right, and Alastor refused to play along that easily. The moment the hand left his mouth, words followed it.

“Ha! I couldn’t if you tried.”

For a moment the only sound in the room was Alastor’s breath speeding up in anticipation. “You do remember who you’re talking to, don’t you?” Lucifer’s voice rumbled in his ear.

“Lucifer Magne, Morning Star, Light-Bringer. King of hell, first rebel, and tempter of men. If you thought I’d forget your name so easily, how did you expect me to scream it?”

It started as a low chuckle in Lucifer’s throat then grew into a full body laugh until Lucifer was nearly doubled over, chin resting on Alastor’s shoulder and body curled against his back. The laugh was an earnest one, full of humor and light, and it was the most ominous sound Alastor had heard all evening. His own quiet laugh joined it until Lucifer’s hand wrapped around his throat.

“That’s right,” Lucifer said. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Never a dull moment with you, is there? You think you can last longer than poor Magnus? Be my guest.”

His hand hovered by Alastor’s stomach until gunfire sounded from the TV. Only then did it wrap around Alastor’s shaft, coating it in something liquid and slick. Of course he’d been prepared, some distant corner of Alastor’s mind thought. Maybe not for this exact scenario, but something close enough. The rest of him was busy picking his battles.

He still couldn’t move his hands except to grip the armrests. His legs were trapped between them and Lucifer’s own, spread apart for easy access. His lip was caught between his own teeth, just shy of drawing blood, but everything else he could move, if only slightly. Lucifer was still leaning against him, so experimentally he tried shifting forward.

It was the worst mistake he could possibly have made. Lucifer’s hand—the one that wasn’t swirling around his tip—jumped at the chance to slip between them and around his tail. Flinching away was no good either. It only pushed him into Lucifer’s palm and earned him a mental warning from their deal.

“How generous of you to present yourself,” Lucifer purred in his ear. “I seem to remember you liked this quite a lot.”

A sharp pull at the tip of his tail forced out a gasp and another flinch before Alastor could reply. “I thought I could use a handicap. Where’s the fun in winning too easily?”

“Just make sure you keep your eyes open. Wouldn’t want to miss any of the fun, now would you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s taken so long to finally start.”

Finally both stars were on screen. The gunfire had served its purpose and drawn out the exorcist. It stood as a group of white and blood red pixels at the far end of the block as Magnus lined up his shot and fired. There was the bang of the gun, then, half a second later, a high-pitched clang and the crack of a bullet hitting stone. The angel barely flinched.

Burst fire had the same result. Half a dozen bangs and half a dozen misses. For a moment, though, the angel became a blur of pink, and the cameraman gasped.

And Lucifer, who’d paused for the start of the fight, started moving his hand again. This time there really was nowhere to go. Alastor couldn’t shift his hips without pressing into one hand or the other, couldn’t turn his head far without looking away from the TV.

The camera zoomed in as Magnus tried another round of burst fire and the angel’s grin widened. Its sword arm flickered, and a series of impacts shattered the pavement behind it. Then it took its first step forward, and the view visibly flinched. With every step the angel took, the picture got shakier and shakier until the cameraman noticed and zoomed back out.

“It sure is taking its sweet time,” Alastor said. Talking was definitely the way to go. It gave him something to focus on and forced him to steady his breathing instead of letting it come in ragged gasps.

“It just cleared out a casino. It’ll be ahead on its quota for a while, so it’s got time for a bit of fun. Which means so do I.”

Alastor tensed at the words, but Lucifer’s hand only wandered up his spine. It was Alastor’s chance to shift back in the chair and cover his tail again, but that would have been admitting defeat. And besides, Lucifer’s other hand was still stroking along his length, and some part of him refused to pull away. In time he might have gathered the will, but by then Lucifer had reached his collar.

The ends of his tie were still loose around his neck, and Lucifer tossed it into the darkness before pulling down his shirt. Then those lips were on his neck, and that tongue, and the breath caught in Alastor’s throat.

It shouldn’t have felt nearly this good, and part of him rebelled at it. The devil was licking his neck, and if that wasn’t an absurd thought then nothing was. That voice was drowned out, though, by the sheer flood of sensation. The press of lips against sensitive skin, the cold of wetness between hot puffs of breath, the brush of teeth against his jugular. And in the midst of it, Lucifer’s hand found its way to his ears again.

Eventually he had to breathe. The air forced its way out with a shaky moan before he gasped for a new lungful. The cycle repeated, and by the third time Lucifer was matching its timing. Every gasp was met with a downstroke, every moan drawn out by a hand rubbing to the tip of his ears, until his head swam from shortness of breath.

“Lucifer, I—” he panted, then ran out of air. Still the words served their purpose. They broke the pattern and let him breathe deep while Lucifer deliberately misinterpreted.

“Oh no you don’t. The fight’s barely started. Look.”

Alastor had been looking. The angel had covered half the distance already, deflecting bullets the whole way. Magnus was backing away though, slowly making his way to the first of the weapons caches he’d pointed out.

“Does he think he can wear it down?” Lucifer snickered. “It’s still got hundreds more to kill once it’s through with him. He’s just helping it learn the timing. And as for you, don’t tell me you’re close already. We’re just getting started.”

But Alastor only gave him a shaky laugh. “If you’re going to interrupt me, don’t put words in my mouth. If I could go on,” he cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Lucifer. I know you can do better than this.”

The sentence ended in a hiss as Lucifer bit down. The pain was electric, darting down his arms and spine and setting hair standing on end. Drops of blood ran down his neck until Lucifer caught them with his tongue.

“Alastor,” he said. “This isn’t an order either, but for your own good, shut up.”

It was sound advice, but where was the fun in accepting it? “What’s the worst you can do, my king? Stop? Ha!” It’d likely be more a punishment for him than Alastor.

Lucifer’s sigh was a puff of warmth at Alastor’s throat. “Fine. If that’s the way you want it, if you’re so good at  _ presentation, _ then put your mouth to use.” He gestured at the TV. “Narrate,” he said, and Alastor took a deep breath.

“We join our hero in the midst of unloading another magazine at his quarry. But alas! His shots are on target but none find— _ nh!”  _ Lucifer’s hand twisted, and that had no business being enough to steal Alastor’s speech. His brows furrowed in irritation, but before he could continue Lucifer butted in again.

“And that’s why people who don’t know what they’re talking about should—“

_ “None find their mark.” _ Lucifer chuckled as Alastor forced the words out. “The angel is too fast, its skill with the sword too— _ ah! _ Too great. Every bullet is severed in two be-before it can inflict even the slightest scratch. Every step takes it closer, a cat cornering its prey, as good Magnus considers his options.”

Alastor paused then, leaning forward and not bothering to hold back the small sounds he made as Lucifer kept up his pace.

“What? Done already?” Lucifer asked.

“Ad break.” Alastor nodded at the TV, where Magnus was busy switching weapons. “I couldn’t tell you the difference if I tried. It’s been too long since I’ve bothered with guns. They’re so impersonal.”

Lucifer scoffed. “Not my problem. Five, four . . .”

“So demanding,” Alastor muttered. The countdown was enough to take a deep breath, but just as he opened his mouth, he was forced to choke back a moan. Lucifer’s off hand, the one he’d lost track of a while ago, had wrapped around his tail and was dragging slowly down its length. “You—“

Lucifer’s voice was nothing short of gleeful. “You’re the one who signed up for—“

_ “We rejoin our ill-fated hero _ , not a stone’s throne from his would-be prey, but what’s this? Has the angel made a mistake? Scratches line its body, and yet another mars its shoulder as its reflexes fail! It’s too close! It’s barely in time to block the bullets, but still it walks onward!”

It was a terrible performance. There was no hiding the tension in Alastor’s voice, the too-sharp enunciation as he forced himself to keep talking, but he didn’t stumble. He didn’t stutter, and that was enough. The words were simple, the patterns stolen from old, well-rehearsed serials. All he needed was not to trip. Not to get distracted and focus on what Lucifer’s hands were doing to—no! If he slipped now . . . he shoved the thought aside and spoke on.

“But as Magnus reaches the end of his magazine, he throws his gun aside! Has he gone mad? Has he decided close combat is his best chance? He’s drawn . . . ah . . . some sort of pistol from his belt, but in his other hand he holds a simple knife! The angel walks on. Its sinister grin spreads across his face, but Magnus holds his ground. The two are merely twenty feet apart. Then ten feet. Then  _ clang! _ Their weapons crash together, and what speed! What instinct! Just moments ago the angel was deflecting bullets, but our lupine friend is—wait!  _ I—!” _

For a moment hot air ghosted across Alastor’s neck, then Lucifer’s mouth was there, kissing along tender, barely-healed skin. Words were still running through his head— _ The gun remains unfired as he bides his time. Every shot is precious when he doesn’t have time or a free hand to reload. _ But they was just an afterthought. The whole of Alastor’s focus was drawn to Lucifer’s hands and to his neck.

For only a second Alastor resisted the urge to pull away. Then it was too much. Too much sensation, too much contact. He shifted to the side, leaned forward, turned his head so he could barely see the TV, but Lucifer hummed and slid his hand from Alastor’s tail. It curled around him, cupped his jaw, and pulled him back until he was pressed against Lucifer’s chest. It tipped his head until his neck was wide open, and never mind all the things that were supposed to be keeping him still. The binds around his wrists, Lucifer’s arms, the deal itself—all irrelevant. Alastor couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to, not with every muscle too tense to so much as twitch.

“Another ad break?” Lucifer murmured, and Alastor didn’t so much hear as feel it. Somewhere in the background he heard himself start talking again. Idle chatter devoid of creativity but necessitated by pride. Words were his domain and always would be. Nothing would take that away from him.

_ “He’s dodging and weaving, but the angel gives no ground. Its reflexes are sharp, and it blocks Magnus’s every blow as easily as playing pat-a-cake.” _

Lucifer’s hand shifted. It slid up around where his ear had been back when he’d still lived. Its fingers twined through his hair.

_ “And with every second it’s speeding up, anticipating the moment Magnus won’t keep pace. If he has a plan, it had better be quick.” _

Teeth brushed against his neck just shy of breaking skin, threatening to make his breath hitch, but they weren’t the worst. Rather than biting, Lucifer was sucking as if trying to leave a bruise. Impossible, Alastor knew. He’d heal much too quickly for it, but the instincts were still there. Every hint of pain only wound the hot coil of tension in his gut tighter.

_ “As the two—oh? Magus raises his pistol! Fires! They’re only feet apart, but the angel follows the gun! A spray of bullets hits its sword, but it—and Mangus grabs its arm! His dagger’s on the ground! He’s pulling it forward! His teeth clamp down on its wrist, and with a mighty wrench the sword goes flying!” _

It wasn’t the end. Far from it, and Lucifer’s other hand was only speeding up. For the first time in a minute, Alastor moved. His foot twitched, filling the room with a frantic  _ tap, tap, tap _ until he forced it still. Lucifer laughed against his neck.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t see  _ that _ coming,”he said. “How long do you think it’ll torture him for that little insult?”

Alastor refused to consider it.

_ “The two stand apart once more. Blood drips from Magnus’s lips and the ragged stump of the angel’s right arm. Its sword lies on the ground between them, mere feet from Magnus’s dagger, but its grin promises retribution. He steps forward, draws a second dagger, and lunges, and a flash of light blinds the camera!” _

Almost done. Almost done, they had to be almost done.

_ “As it clears our hero finds himself sprawled on his back, knocked away by an unknown force. He springs to his feet, only for the light to flare again.” _

The tapping was back, and this time Alastor didn’t try to stop it.

_ “This time Magnus is wary. He rolls back, crouches low, pauses to reload, but it’s a choice he’ll regret. A moment is all the angel needs. The air fills with a golden glow. The flesh of its hand begins to knit together, but even as Magnus sees it, there’s a hand around his throat. It throws him back, slams him down against the pavement. A heel steps on his wrist, but he keeps hold of his gun. It stomps down harder, and a splatter of blood stains the road. Metal hits asphalt, and the angel kicks the gun aside before planting its knee on Magnus’s chest. It raises its hand, fully healed now, and plunges it into Magnus’s stomach.” _

And that was where the running stream of mindless commentary ended. It wouldn’t have been the first impromptu vivisection Alastor described, but there was an art to them. Every torture was unique, not like the old, redundant serials he could recite in his sleep. It deserved nothing short of his full attention, and that he couldn’t give.

“What? Not going to cover the best part?” Lucifer asked.

It took several seconds to piece together an answer. “Later. The best I can do you now is a list of organs.  _ There’s his stomach, and there goes a kidney! And more intestine! What do you think, large or sm-mh!” _

Lucifer’s hand slid over his mouth, and then there was nothing left to say. Nothing left to do but watch the angel slowly tear its hunter apart and try to hold himself together against Lucifer’s touch. Magnus was screaming, but it wasn’t enough. He was too far from the camera. It didn’t do a thing to mask the sound of Alastor’s breathing, fast and harsh and loud in his own ears.

He could hear it hitch every time Lucifer moved. Every time his teeth snagged on skin. Every time he broke the rhythm, cupped his balls, and ran a hand over his head, only to go back to stroking. Lucifer had to feel it. Had to know that behind his hand Alastor was biting his lips to keep down a moan. That the taste of bright, searing red was filling his mouth almost as fast as it filled the screen. That sparks were running across his skin and raising goosebumps in their wake. He had to know because Alastor could feel the shudders running down his spine, and they were so, so close. He stared unblinking at the TV, the only proof in the room that time truly was passing.

And it was almost done. Magnus had stopped screaming. Only half of him was twitching now, but that just meant a broken spine. It also meant he couldn’t move as the angel stood to retrieve its sword.

It stood over its would-be hunter, raised the blade high, and Alastor could have sworn that in that moment—despite the distance, despite the shaking of the cameraman’s hands—he could see every glint of the blade in slow motion as it sank into Magnus’s neck.

It was over. He’d done it.

The angel turned its head toward the cameraman, and the camera fell to the roof as he ran. The angel wouldn’t follow. It had wasted enough time without chasing a demon across the rooftops. There were quotas to meet and swarms of demons elsewhere just ripe for the slaughtering.

It was over, and Lucifer let go, and the need to have him back was sudden and acute and sickening. Satisfaction surged. He’d won, he’d won, and finally he could pull away. The tension did it for him before he could think, curling him forward now that Lucifer’s arm wasn’t holding him back. And good riddance to that arm, but the other . . .

For the first time that night Alastor’s eyes slid closed and stay that way, but that only made everything worse. The last distraction was gone, and his awareness flooded with every revolting detail he’d tuned out. The faint static filling the room, barely muffled by the drapery. The chill of air around his shoulders. The grimace frozen into his smile. The ache in his knee where Lucifer’s heel pressed it into the chair. Lucifer’s other foot wrapped around his calf. Lucifer’s touch, Lucifer’s heat, every last trace of Lucifer’s presence, and the twisted urge to both pull him in and shove him away.

“Well done!” came Lucifer’s voice from behind him. “I didn’t think you’d make it. I won’t keep you waiting any longer.”

A hand settled on his hip, and it was wrong. Wanted, unwanted. Fire and goosebumps flaring across his skin. He needed it gone but needed it closer, or maybe not it but  _ something _ , and his self-control was scattering. Tension squeezed around his stomach, and the star in his head was flickering out. “Stop, stop,” Alastor heard himself say as he forced himself to count his breaths. In. The hand pulled away. Out. Nothing else changed, but that was fine. He just had to focus. Restabilize. Act like himself again and not whatever creature got itself into this mess.

“Alastor. Relax” There wasn’t an ounce of concern in that voice. Only command, and that was better. He knew what to do with commands.

“Ha! I don’t—“

“—follow orders. No, you don’t, and good thing too. It makes playing with you so much more fun, but your game’s over now, Alastor. You won. Let me give you your reward.” There was still no concern, but the voice was softer now. Calm. Indulgent.

“Your game isn’t.”

“No, but don’t pretend you ever had a chance of winning that. If you don’t pick your battles, you’ll end up like old Magnus over there. Now just breathe for a minute. Relax.”

It wasn’t for Lucifer’s sake that Alastor took the advice. It was for the remnants of his own dignity. He deserved better than letting a simple touch scatter it to the winds. He  _ was _ better.

After a minute Lucifer’s hand moved back to his hip, and when that provoked no reaction the other moved to his shoulder. Slowly it pulled him back until he was lying against Lucifer’s chest again. The tension flared, then settled, then slowly began to ebb away. Hot and cold melded into warmth, and Lucifer’s shoulder was at just the right height to rest his head, and the longer they stayed there, the easier it was. The more the touch felt like a mutual decision.

It made Lucifer petting him almost tolerable.

“Lucifer?”

“Hm?” He paused in scratching Alastor behind his ears.

“If you want a cat, then get a cat.”

“And where am I supposed to do that.”

“Steal one from the surface.”

Lucifer sighed, then pulled his hand away. “But pets are annoying, and mortals are so short lived. I’d rather have you. If I had a cat, I couldn’t do this.”

There was plenty of warning, but Alastor still froze when Lucifer touched between his legs.

“There, there, my charming little deer. I told you it’d feel better if you relaxed.” Despite the complaint, Lucifer’s hand was back in his hair, and somehow that was the tipping point. That was what restored a sense of balance. The last of the tension drained away, replaced by a deep languor and a familiar irritation.

“Oh, no, no. There’s far too much wrong with what you just said for it to be an accident,” Alastor said. A shake of his head dislodged Lucifer’s hand, and he shifted to better lean against him. “I’d have to give it a compliment if it wouldn’t incentivize more hopeless inaccuracy.”

“Which part was wrong? I did tell you it’d feel better, and it does, doesn’t it?” Lucifer’s hand started moving again, slowly at first, and like it or not he was right. The heat didn’t coil this time but pool in Alastor’s gut, a slow, smoldering blaze that invited him to breathe deep and stoke it.

“Is technically right the standard now? If this is all it takes to lose to you, well,” Alastor shrugged and let out a small laugh. “It’s not exactly hard, is it? But winning? That was something else. . . Besides, the rest was just as bad.”

“What? ‘My charming little deer?’ I’ll take back the ‘little’ if it offends your delicate pride, but you are a deer.” Lucifer’s fingers traced one antler-shaped horn. “And you are very charming.”

“Technically right again.” Alastor was a demon and a dealmaker, and quite the talented one at that. Charming his marks came with the territory, as Lucifer well knew. “And what about ‘my?’”

“We’ve been over that already. Has anyone else—“

“Lucifer, Lucifer. Just because I’m not anyone else’s, it doesn’t mean I’m yours.”

Lucifer’s hand combed through his hair as if to prove a point. “Then we’ll just have to work on that. You wouldn’t make me into a liar, would you?”

There was another title he’d missed earlier. “Ha! Says the Price of Lies himself.”

Alastor could all but feel Lucifer rolling his eyes. “Yes, yes, that time with the apple. But I was right, you know. She didn’t die from eating it, and you know I love my technicalities.”

“Hm. Then technically . . .”

“This should be enough, don’t you think?”

It was hard to argue otherwise. Lying in Lucifer’s lap, head resting in the crook of his neck, shivering not from tension this time but pleasure, it was hard to say there wasn’t something to it. A hand was stroking between his ears and the other along his cock, and he wasn’t doing a thing to stop them. Right now he was surely Lucifer’s, but Lucifer’s what?

Pet was demeaning. Plaything was worse. Not prey. A hunter, yes, but not Lucifer’s. They weren’t enemies and definitely not allies. They’d turned it all into a game, but what would Lucifer call the one he played with? Opponent? Too confrontational. Too close to enemy. Friend? Now that was a laugh. Which part of any of this was friendship?

Maybe it didn’t need a word. Maybe that was the point. He was Lucifer’s but in some subtle, ill-defined way barely over the borderline.

“Enough to be yours? Only just. Lucifer, I—”

“I know,” he said and sped up his pace. “You’re beautiful like this, you know. Well, all the time really, but now it’s not a performance. You’ll have to tell me someday  _ exactly _ what you did up there to earn so much down here.”

“Don’t you already know?” The words were sighed against Lucifer’s neck between shudders.

“I’d rather hear it from your mouth. You have such a way with words.”

Alastor hummed his agreement, hearing the way it quivered at the end. He was close, and Lucifer knew it. He’d stopped varying his movements, focused now on bringing Alastor over the edge. The heat gathered and pressure built, and when he came it was like a breaking glass. Warmth spilled through his veins and out of him like a second heartbeat, and for a minute all he could feel was his own breathing. At some point he heard a voice speaking, and slowly he started to make out the words.

”. . . was that for song and dance? I doubt the last bore you slept with made you work so hard to get off, but whatever floats your boat. I can’t say I hate the thought of having such a pretty, masochistic deer all to myself.”

Something was touching his face, tracing down his nose and along his cheek and to the corner of his mouth where a soft smile still lingered, and clarity struck like the sun breaking through clouds.

Alastor shot upright, his smile widening into his usual toothy grin, a quick shake of the head getting his hair back in order. Lucifer’s legs had unwound from his at some point, but his wrists were still tied to the chair. And more importantly he couldn’t stand up. The deal still lingered in his head like a threat.

“Surprised?” Lucifer said. “I’d have thought you of all people would be more careful about exact wording.”

“Then, ‘sit back and enjoy myself—‘”

”—wasn’t a euphemism. More like, ‘sit back  _ as long as _ you’re enjoying yourself.’ I’ll admit, I’m a bit surprised you’re still here, but only a bit.” Lucifer’s voice had all the mischievous glee of of a child getting away with a prank, and that was never a good sign.

“So the escape clause is on your end?” Alastor asked. Lucifer wouldn’t be so careless as to create a deal one of them would be forced to break.

“Oh, my end was satisfied right after as we kissed. I just had to make sure you liked it, didn’t matter how long. But let me tell you, it was damn useful having a litmus test.”

Irritation aside, Alastor couldn’t help but appreciate the elegance. What a deal. It left absolutely no risk to Lucifer, and while Alastor’s terms had been deceptively simple, the truth was only slightly worse. To end it cleanly, all it would take was a moment of genuine displeasure. Of course it would. Lucifer was still the devil after all, and an asshole besides.

“Well then, any plans for getting us out of this?”

That earned a laugh from Lucifer. “Getting  _ you _ out of this, you mean? I thought for a while about warping away and leaving you to your lesson. You’d get bored eventually. But then I realized I’d rather do this.”

Then his hand brushed between Alastor’s legs, and the next second was a blur of distress and motion and twisting, conflicted impulse until Alastor found himself gasping in Lucifer’s lap, pushed as far away from that hand as he could get. Something hard was pressing against his spine, his hair was standing on end, and somehow,  _ somehow _ the deal was still glittering in his head.

“Oh?” Lucifer hummed in his ear. “Don’t tell me you  _ enjoyed _ that.” His hand wandered closer, and even with nowhere to go Alastor still felt himself try to flinch away.

“Don’t!” he snapped, and Lucifer snickered.

It was infuriating to hear uncontrolled panic layered across his voice. At least he was still smiling, even if Lucifer couldn’t see it, even if it didn’t come close to touching his eyes.

He knew why he still couldn’t move. It wasn’t the touch he’d enjoyed. Far,  _ far _ from it. No, it was a traitorous part of him that refused to let pain be what controlled him. Or whatever pain-adjacent feeling this hypersensitivity was. Part of him was still celebrating his victory while he peeled himself from Lucifer’s chest, reveling in the fact that he hadn’t been weak enough to let the deal break. Apparently even that ridiculous, self-defeating joy was enough.

“Don’t worry,” Lucifer chuckled. “I had a plan B.”

Then his hands moved again, and Alastor was on his feet struggling to hold in a laugh. No crippling pain. No broken deal, and least that was a relief even as his blood boiled in indignation.

“I hoped you’d be ticklish.” Alastor could hear the grin in Lucifer’s voice, but as he turned on his heel and locked eyes with him, it was far from the first thing to draw his gaze. Lucifer’s eyes were brighter than usual, his cheeks redder. His clothes were rumpled, and there was a noticeable tent in his pants. Despite it all he was still infinitely more composed than Alastor, and that simply could not stand.

A shrug and twirl of the wrist—how good it felt to move freely again—had Alastor’s pants straightening and his shirt rebuttoning itself. His hands glowed a soft red as he brushed them across his sleeves, watching the cloth smooth as if ironed. His tie was lost somewhere to the darkness, but with a snap a spare bloomed around his throat. His other hand trailed along the armrest as he walked behind the chair to grab his coat.

“I take it you won’t be helping me with this,” Lucifer said, and there was no need to guess what  _ this _ was.

“Entertaining as this all has been, my king, my business here is done.” The snake on Lucifer’s hat snapped at Alastor’s fingers as he shoved the brim down over Lucifer’s eyes, but it was an empty threat. By the time Lucifer pushed it up Alastor had circled back around the chair, shrugged on his coat, and started doing up the buttons by hand. His head was tilted back, his eyes lidded, a thin smirk playing across his features, and he knew exactly what sort of figure he cut. The look on Lucifer’s face—desire and frustration taking turns flashing in his eyes—was payback enough for Lucifer’s last trick.

“You do remember we’re still in the middle of Purge Day?”

Was that genuine concern or just Lucifer grasping at straws? Alastor didn’t know which was more disturbing and chose to take it as neither. “I appreciate the warning, but this is hardly my first purge. I know better than dear Magnus what the exorcists are capable of.” Shadows gathered at Alastor’s feet, and he took one step into the gate before a thought struck him. “Though I can’t help but wonder if you can’t do the same. How much of their powers do you still have?”

Alastor could have sworn black feathers were spinning through the room, but it was dark, and there was no trace of them when he blinked. Only Lucifer reclining as if on a throne, knees crossed, chin resting on his hand. For an instant Alastor had the impression of horns and blood red eyes, but his vision hadn’t so much as flickered.

“Angels can’t make deals,” Lucifer said, “in case you had any doubts there. As for the rest . . .” He slowly held out a hand, and Alastor felt his eyebrows raise. “How much is it worth to you?”

That wasn’t nothing. That was the king of hell’s secrets in the palm of his hand. A deal that would make today’s star look like a firefly beside it. The price would be exorbitant, but Lucifer would keep it just tempting enough to consider. He’d limit Alastor’s movements, keep him from using his knowledge for harm, but he wouldn’t strip him of his power. They were alike in that regard. Lucifer might play rough with his toys, but he’d only break them if they got boring.

His toys, huh. Alastor’s smirk was sharp as a knife. No. That was a level he’d never stoop to.

There was no need to be hasty. He’d lived through almost a hundred purges and would live through countless more. He’d bartered his soul and others and always come out on top. Hell was his home in more ways than one, and he’d have all the time in the world. Why not spend it piecing together the knowledge for himself? It had taken decades to finally catch Lucifer’s eye. What was the rush now?

“You were saying something about a lesson before. Something about being more careful when dealing with the devil? I’m sure you won’t mind if I take your words to heart for once.”

As ever Alastor made a show of his little speech, shaking his head and pressing a hand to his chest, and when he opened his eyes Lucifer was smiling. Darkly or fondly or appraisingly, Alastor couldn’t tell. It was some nameless blend of all three, and Alastor was suddenly all too aware of his own heartbeat. He crossed an arm in front of him in a short bow, then stepped through the gate before any more idle thoughts could persuade him to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> So, um, about 7k words in I realized this was going to be a long one. About 9k in I realized there's something horribly wrong with me. Why else would I gravitate to this of all ships, then force myself to write simultaneous smut, dialogue, and fight scene? Seriously, why? They all tangled up and made a mess of each other, and they'd be hard enough on to write on their own. Probably better off on their own too, but that was just the way it unfolded.
> 
> In absence of any info on angels, I'll just pretend they cast miracles à la Dark Souls. Yay, Wrath of the Gods!
> 
> Thank you to anybody who sat through this long-winded, self-indulgent mess. May you enjoy the rest of your day, and I hope I somehow managed to make it even the slightest bit better.


End file.
